Testing Limits

Flash Fiction Practice

“What are your limits?”

“How much will you put up with? What will send you over the edge? I mean, REALLY over the edge? To the point of murder?”

I tried to focus on my work, but her questions kept popping in my brain, uninvited, until I no longer remembered what I was supposed to be doing.

Taxes, you moron! Adjusted gross income. Standard deduction or itemization? What about credits? Gambling losses? Sure, but what the wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her…we can absorb it without me claiming it. Next.

Why, though? Why would she ask me those kinds of questions? Was she afraid I’d crack under the pressure of tax season? Sure, the boss is a real nag, but I can handle him – always have.

Even when he tried to get me to leave off a few income sources for his laundry business last year. I refused, and he backed off.

Straight-laced? Not really, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to put my name on that return. Nobody wants to get on the government’s radar.

He eventually saw things my way.

I wonder if she wants me to do something for her? Why would she ask me if I could commit murder? It’s kind of insulting if you ask me—all those questions were something you’d ask a criminal, maybe. But a CPA? Someone devoted to numbers, ledgers, exemptions, and tax shelters?

Hardly.

But does she know something I don’t? As I remember, she was acting like a smart-ass right before she got all serious, suggesting we go someplace quiet to talk.

What limits was she referring to? The number of times I’d been passed over for a promotion?

I thought by now I’d have been made partner. I should have been made a partner. What’s wrong with playing politics?

We could have had a couple of houses and spent time at the cabin if you’d just learned to play nice, Howard. But no. You’re a washed-up number cruncher—nobody will hire you if you’re fired.

Let’s face it…you’ve given your life to Matthews & Gordon for twenty years, and for what? When he retired, they gave Jim a cheap Rolex knock-off that everybody oohed and aahed over, while Jim shoved one forkful after another of the dried-out supermarket cake in his mouth, choking with each bite.

Is that your future, Howard? Destined to get your cheap knock-off Rolex watch and spend your golden years counting down the days until you die?

Richard didn’t mince words. He never did.

“So…we’re done…we need someone who’s got people skills, Howard, and you know that’s what it takes to bring on new business. Any trained monkey can crunch numbers. Your last check will be in your account on payday.”

Agnes was less than thrilled, so he wasn’t surprised she’d cleared out the bank account and her belongings. He expected divorce papers any day now.

Howard stood over Richard’s body. It had been surprisingly easy…nobody considered what might happen when his limit was surpassed. He’d calculated everything…risk, reward, recompense.

He was in the black, but it took seeing red to put him there.

Now all he had to worry about was Richard’s secretary. Why did Alice ask so many questions? Did she see something? Doesn’t matter; he’d make sure the balance sheet always tipped in his favor.

To answer your questions, Alice, I have no limits now, and I’ve got you to thank.